Crayons and Calendars
by fowl68
Summary: She still isn't used to being a mother yet, although her child is already walking and talking and learning to write.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Author's Note:** I know this is a little late, but we went to go see Iron Man 2 last night—and if you're planning to go see it, seriously, stay after the credits. Totally worth it—and we had an accidental movie day for Mother's Day yesterday. We watched three kung fu movies, Leap Year, Monster-in-Law, part of the Last Boy Scout. Fun stuff.

Ah, and I am so sorry I haven't been updating my other stuff, but I've been really busy with school and with my ToS stuff that it seems to have taken up a majority of my time right now. But as I'm nearly done with it, this won't be the case for very much longer.

This one's dedicated to those amazing people we call mothers.

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_The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh_

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It had been years—or so it seemed—since she had been on a 'real' mission and her instincts had clearly dulled some. But one instinct stayed with her and that was reaching for the knife that she kept beneath her pillow and immediately getting into a sort of half-crouch, one knee on the bed, the other ready to push herself off.

When there are no kunais flying at her or blades against her throat, she listens for the sounds that had originally woken her. There were voices, speaking low and not-quite-whispering and it's only now that Kurenai remembers _is my son alright?!_ Because even after three years and a quarter, she still can't quite believe that she has a child, that she's become a mother just like her mom before her.

But there is no screaming, no thumping of small feet on the wooden floor, so she can only assume and hope that he's alright.

Kurenai slips out of her bedroom into the hall, keeping close to the wall. There is light spilling out from her kitchen and she has to wonder why any burglar or murderer might want with her cooking appliances. She can hear the voices a little clearer now, can make out a few words. "….water?" "…need the…ink…"

She steps boldly into her kitchen (she would _not_ be intimidated in her own house dammit) and is startled to realize that she recognizes the intruders.

Eight pairs of eyes are frozen on her.

"What on earth are you all doing in here at," She pauses to glance at the microwave clock. "Four twenty-three in the morning?" And then she spots her son standing with Chouji by the sink. "And shouldn't you be in bed?"

Kurenai isn't sure whether it's a natural gene inside the DNA of younger people, but they all give her the exact same sheepish smile. Except for one, lounging in the corner by the fridge.

"So that's the thanks we get for going through so much trouble to prepare this for you?" But the lopsided smile on Shikamaru's lips tells her that he's joking. Quite honestly, she's surprised he's awake at all at this hour.

Kurenai takes in her kitchen with its small, four-person dining table. There's the strong smell of coffee (thank God, because she didn't think she could hear all of this without some sort of caffeine) and the toaster was on. Akamaru was curled up comfortably in a corner by Hinata's feet. Ino had an apron on and was standing at the sink. Shino was standing by the table, perhaps a little awkwardly, hands in his pockets. Chouji was making something on the stove and—were those _flowers_ on her kitchen table?

There were little yellow agrimonies and celandines; small white snowdrops and purple peach blossoms. Olives and oak leaves lay on the rim of the vase, Canterbury bells lying on top of them. Brightly colored butterflies were perched on the flowers' petals. There was a card balanced in between the small leaves with familiar writing inked on the front.

"Food's ready." Chouji announced. "Somebody wanna get the plates?"

Kiba is reaching over Ino to get the plates and she's kicking him lightly in the shin for making her splash water on herself. Shikamaru is getting forks and knives while Hinata is searching the fridge for maple syrup.

But right in front of Kurenai was her little son, her little smoke-and-ashes boy with coal-bright eyes and dark hair, smiling real big and wide with small, chubby hands holding out a big card, unevenly folded. On the front, in big, childish scrawl in bright crayon, is 'Happy Mama's Day.'

Kurenai looks down at her son before looking around at the teenagers—young men and women now—who were as good as children. "Is it really Mother's Day?"

They ogle her and Ino and Kiba are the ones that chuckle first. "Don't tell me you forgot sensei." Kiba says, though it's been a while since she was really their sensei.

It's not something she usually keeps in mind. She still isn't used to being a mother yet, even though her child is already walking and talking and learning his characters.

Reading the look on her face, Shikamaru laughs. "And you used to tell us that we're forgetful. You're the one with a calendar."

But the calendar is something she only glances at in the morning. She never actually reads the small holidays printed on the bottom of the squares.

Chouji's breakfast could have fed a small army, but then again, with eight people with rather incredible appetites, Kurenai supposes it's the same thing. There are pancakes with sugar and butter sprinkled on them, croissants stuffed with eggs, bacon, cheese and peppers, an entire frying pan of scrambled eggs, half with ham, the other without; orange juice and tea are passed around as often as the basket of bread.

It's after breakfast that the sun is peeking through the curtains and they give her her gifts. Shino hands her a box of strawberry-filled chocolate—her favorites—Hinata's gift is a shimmering hair ornament that Kurenai isn't sure she really has anywhere to wear anymore, but thanks her student just the same. Kiba's gift is a hand-woven bracelet that's threaded with browns and reds. Ino's gift is sitting in the center of the table and Chouji's gift is resting comfortably in their stomachs. Shikamaru slides her a small box, one that could fit in the palm of her hand. When she opens it, it's a pair of small, sparklign earrings that she knows must have cost Shikamaru a month's pay.

Kurenai stares at the faces of her students, her son nestled in Ino's lap, all smiling big at her as they say a chorus of "Happy Mother's Day!" 


End file.
